Monday, September 21, 2009

Memory Monday: Where there's smoke, there's always a fire, right?

Memory Monday: my opportunity to share humorous tidbits from our family's history. This one is from Oct. 2006.

So, the kids and I were upstairs- me cleaning, and them, riding their sleeping bags down the stairs (a pastime of which I am quickly tiring ) when Megan yells from the bottom of the stairs, "It smells like smoke down here!"

I rush down and she's right. The kitchen is hazy and definitely smells like smoke.

The problem is, I can't figure out where the smoke is coming from or why. I hadn't cooked anything that morning except a mean bowl of Rice Krispies! And everyone knows those aren't cooked!

The oven was off, the stove was off and there was not a spark in sight.

I yell at the kids to go outside, which, of course, is freezing cold, and they are dressed in tutus. OK, Mitchell's not wearing a tutu, but he IS shirtless. They bundle up with blankets in the van and I start a movie to keep them occupied.

I proceed to go back in the house to find out the source of the smoke. It occurs to me that the house was recently rewired and maybe the problem is hidden. I can't find anything, so I do what any normal person SHOULD do: I call 911.

The fire department comes out. Just great for a newcomer to the neighborhood. The first responder goes through the house with me, looking for the fire. We find nothing. We determine the source is most likely the kitchen and by the time we get back there, the whole fire crew is there in full firefighting garb, including a member of our church.

The first responder asks his crew, "What do you smell?" The police officer on the scene thoughtfully replies, "It smells like burnt plastic." In that instant I think, "There are two places I've seen plastic burn in the kitchen, the top of the stove and (here's my light bulb moment)....the....MICROWAVE!"

A firefighter opens the implicated appliance and pulls out a well-charred, melted bottle of Costco brand children's vitamins. The true guilty party: none other than our precious two-and-a-half year old, Madison.

The fire crew was kind to offer encouraging words that I did the right thing to call them. My true consolation comes from the fact that it took a kitchen-full of burly men, and a lady police officer, a full ten minutes to find my fire.